Knowledge of the tenses
by Charlotte-indifferent
Summary: Someone very close to Ron is missing, and though Ron may know of his wherabouts, he needs help from a particular platinum blonde to save him. (slash RD)
1. Knowledge of the tenses

Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING… Except the plot…

This is starting off PG-13, but trust me; the 'R'-ness shall appear in later chapters.

The trio walked from Transfiguration to their History of magic class, chattering quietly to themselves about the previous lesson. "Ron, you really ought to realize that the spells you perform today really will be useful in the future, and you need to recognize them as such. They're not meant to be done so that you can simply pass the class." Hermione lectured. With no response from him, a now miffed Hermoine barked at him, waving a hand in front of his expressionless face. "Ron, where _have_ you been lately?! You're never fully mentally active. I feel like I'm talking to a redheaded freckled brick wall, even more than usual."

"Yeah, Hermione, you never know just when you need to turn a pair of rotting boots into a pair of bookends." Ron replied, monotonously, his expression unfaltering.

It was Harry's turn to pipe up. "Ron, are you sure you're okay? You look just about dead."

"Potter, you took the words right out of my mouth." Sneered the ever so familiar voice coming from a rather irritating platinum blonde. "Only, dead would have to be a compliment, I think. The dead, you see, are more up to date with their clothing selections, the dead have more money, even though they've given it all away, and the dead…" Malfoy paused to chuckle to himself "Are by far more attractive."

Malfoy snickered, covering up his disappointment. He didn't get an insult back… not even a flushed look from the Weasley boy. Before Malfoys cronies even got over the hilarity of his remarks, Draco Malfoy glanced back the three. Harry and Hermoine were obviously disgruntled and Ron, bless him hadn't even looked at him throughout his torment. Not even his ears had turned red, or a glare from his grey-green eyes. Didn't the Weasley boy know? The soul reason Draco picked on him so, was to see his reaction. To see the cute flustered expression upon his perfect freckled face.

That's right, perfect.

His _perfectly_ toned skin, his simply kissable pale pink pouted lips, his youthful freckled cheeks, and his gorgeous grey and green eyes. He was sure that they had all sorts of colors in them, besides those two. Flecks of gold, and silver, maybe. And of course, the freckles added the _perfect _finishing touch. And well, this was just his face. Draco could go on for weeks on end about what he fantasized were under those hand me down clothes. He could go on and on about how gorgeous Ron's skin was, tanned just so, and freckled, he was sure Ron's arms, back and shoulders were freckled. Oh, what Draco would do with that wonderful body that boy had…No, he didn't know. He couldn't know.

Nobody could.

Ron snapped out of his daze as Draco walked away, his henchmen howling with laughter. He didn't want to know what was so funny because he was pretty sure it was him. Hermione was beside herself with praise. "Wow, Ron, I'm impressed. You took that very well. You didn't even cringe. You're learning to deal with that ferret Malfoy very well. I must say Ron, I'm as proud of you as I am impressed." Hermione babbled about such until she was cut off. "Well uh… thanks, 'Mione. I can't say I'm not pleased with myself for that one." That was a lie. He was nearly completely oblivious to the stunt Draco Malfoy had just pulled on him. He was just lost in thought that's all… Drowned in his thoughts, actually. He didn't care much for what Malfoy had to say all that much, anyway. He had far more important things to ponder about than how to get Malfoy's sorry ass back for the insults that he didn't know of.

Though he hated the subject, and he wasn't about to admit it, Ron Weasley was becoming better and better at Divination. And he was becoming awfully good at predicting things.

Okay, I admit, that was a pretty bad way to end a chapter. My first chapter of my first fanfic, mind you.

I won't enjoy writing to myself, of which will be the case, if I don't get any reviews so feel free.

Cheers.

Charlotte


	2. Daydreaming of reality

Disclaimer: I still own nothing… Except the plot. Which is still mine.

Need I remind you all that this shall start off nice and PG-13, but in later chappies, there shall be some 'R' rated stuff.

Chapter 2. Daydreaming of reality

The three walked into their History of Magic class and took their seats. Ron sat and ran his quill across his chin a couple of times and acted as if he really were going to take notes. And he was, just not about the criteria he was going to be taught… or was attempted to be taught.

Someone was running from a meadow into a thicket. That someone turned their head and saw several dragons of all sorts, most of which, were already slaughtered and their wounds were bleeding freely. "Sons of bitches couldn't have killed them with magic, they had to kill them brutally, such respected creatures. A magic-caused death would've been far too easy."

Yep, the someone was definitely male. Why did that voice sound so familiar?

The sky above was a disturbing combination of red and orange littered with opaque yellow clouds. There were low yellow clouds that were just barely translucent. Beyond them was the sickening image of the dark lord. Beneath his dragon hide boots was parched grass, and in large areas, was coated with dried and fresh blood alike. The someone looked around in attempt to identify anyone, but it had seemed that those he recognized were lying in pools of their own blood. Hooded figures now roamed the grounds, searching for survivors, though they surprisingly were not dementors. Servants, followers to do Voldemort's dirty work, he was sure they were. One of them looked his way and cursed him… (Or he would've been cursed if he hadn't ducked) The someone ran, as did his pursuer. Dodging trees and leaping over moss covered logs, he was glad that the agency had sent him to a form of boot camp before hiring him for the job. It was dark where he was and he couldn't see much. Naturally, he tripped and tumbled his way down the slope of the still forest-covered hill.

All went dark.

"Ron. Ron? Ron!"

Ron snapped back to reality to Hermione's prodding and calling. "Huh—what?" was his clearly dazed reply. "Mr. Weasley." Called Professor Mc.Gonagall from the doorway. "Please bring your things, the Headmaster would like to see you." Ron glanced at Harry and Hermione with puzzled looks, and snatched the notes from Hermione's hands that he had been writing from his premonition. She'd only tell him he was going senile. He picked up his stuff, and shoved the notes in his pocket as he met his house head at the door, McGonagall closing the door behind him.

The walk to Professor Dumbledore's office was silent and uneventful. McGonagall left him with a nod. As Ron climbed up the torch-lit staircase to the Headmaster's office, a million and one questions flooded the redhead's mind, tumbling about in his brain.

__

Why does he need to see me? Isn't this a scenario for Harry?

What could I have possibly done now?

God, I hope I'm not in trouble, Mum'd kill me.

And then his thoughts drifted back to his premonition

__

Who was he? Thevoice sounded familiar enough.

__

Where had this taken place? God only knows. The only hint was the meadow… and the woods. There wouldn't be any place in the world with an ugly red-orange sky… Or blood coated dead grass.

__

Why? That was the most important question. He wasn't quite sure when this had happened, or what was going on, but there was enough blood he could almost smell it. That gave him an idea.

Someone was not happy.

And that someone was bound to be Voldemort.

Ron pushed open the door to the Headmaster's office to see every Weasley…

Except Charlie.

He scanned the faces of every one of them and they all bore the same expression.

__

Dear God, no…

But he had to ask the question. "W-where's Charlie?"

Molly Weasley wiped yet another tear from her bloodshot green eyes and blew her nose. "Ron, dear…we're not sure if Charles is still with us…" "Much less where he is." Said Bill, finishing her mother's sentence as she went into hysterics yet again. His arms were protectively holding his baby sister as she was in the same shape as her mother. Arthur Weasley had his arms around his wife, and avoided looking at everything except the floor. Percy was pacing in front of Dumbledore's desk, and the twins were standing in front of one of the many bookcases the Headmaster had in his office, silent, for once. "The dark lord." Arthur started, now looking up to face his son. "Struck the site your brother was working at. He is one of two that are missing. The other eight… were found… barely recognizable. 14 out of the 15 dragons were slaughtered without magic. The 15th dragon was taken, vanished without a trace…" Of course, this was all assumed. If Ron's prediction was correct, he was one of the two that had vanished, and he knew exactly what had happened. Voldemort was never on the scene, and his followers were making sure that nobody lived to tell the tale. They were probably hunting the forests for the two survivors. "When did all of this happen?" Ron asked.

"Two weeks ago." Replied Bill.

The young Gryffindor's heart sank.

If his brother was alive, he was running out of time.

Eh, this one was slightly longer than the last.

Will the Weasley boy survive?!

Well, uh… I dunno yet.

Tell me your suggestions in a review and I shall be a happy little chickadee.

Cheers

Charlotte


End file.
